Since Always
by bethmovedon
Summary: Ron's dreams for a "normal" life are dashed when Hermione forces him to face that they’re not happy together. He instinctively turns to Harry, who pushes him into admitting why. Warning: Slash. RonHarry


A/N: This was written for the Harry Potter/Ron Weasley Fuh-Q Fest challenge on live journal. My challenge was: _Ron breaks up with someone, Harry picks up the pieces_  
  
This was surprisingly painful to write. I love Ron/Hermione, so finding reasons for them to not be together--even this--was really hard. Many thanks to TheTreacleTart for the excellent suggestions, Merrycontrary for correcting some idiotic mistakes on my part at the last minute, and so many others for their help and encouragement.

***

An owl hooted loudly as it swooped overhead, startling him out of his daze. After walking aimlessly for at least two hours, he finally realized he was on his way to Harry's flat. Of course. Where else would his subconscious take him after a life-altering event?  
  
It was over.   
  
According to her it had been over for a long time. Deep down he knew it was true, and deep down he knew exactly why. But he wasn't quite ready to face the facts yet. He didn't know if he ever would be.  
  
There had been a lot of reasons for staying together. A normal life, for one. Settling down, being comfortable and safe, making his family proud of him. Not being the disappointment. He had been so focused on trying hard to prove that he was good enough for her he'd been unaware of her unhappiness. He'd hardly been aware of his own.  
  
It was the right thing. They had turned to one another after the final battle, when Harry had gone missing for six months, losing their virginity to one another in a fumbling haste. Everyone said he and Hermione were perfect for each other. No one seemed to realize that it was a relationship based on need and loneliness.   
  
He sighed. How had this happened? Life was supposed to get easier after Evil had been vanquished. Or at least the epitome of all evil in the wizarding world. He tried not to think about the Death Eaters that still roamed free. If he did, he would start to get those urges to do something about it. He would allow himself to feel regret about caving to his Mum and not joining the Auror academy.  
  
_"I've lost two sons in this war, Ron! I can't bear for you to be in danger every day of your life. Please don't do this."_ Her words still rang in his ears every time he thought about it. Molly had sounded so defeated and tired that he had given in to a job at his dad's old office. He kicked at a rock, wincing as it glanced off a nearby lorry.   
  
Walking a bit faster, he squinted into the sunrise. Harry had probably already left for work. _He_ had been unconvinced when Molly had tried the same guilt trip on him. Determined to be useful, he had joined the academy a mere two months after he re-emerged from wherever he'd disappeared to after the last battle, just long enough for him to heal. Physically, anyway.  
  
He sighed again. Memories, thoughts, and ideas that had been deeply buried were quickly rising to the surface. Not so easy to ignore those things when your entire life changes with one decision. Lost in his thoughts, he almost passed the entrance to Harry's flat. Harry could afford to live in a much better neighbourhood. Always the martyr, he thought, though it lacked its usual tinge of bitterness.  
  
"_Alohomora_," he muttered, rolling his eyes. As the door opened with no more fuss, he couldn't help but worry about Harry's lack of concern for his own well-being. There were still a lot of wizards and witches out there who weren't quite grateful for Harry's actions.  
  
Shutting the door behind him, he removed his cloak and stood in the entryway, not really sure what to do next. He should probably nap. Neither he nor Hermione had got much sleep last night. He shook his head to clear the thought away, at least for the moment.  
  
He slipped quietly into the kitchen and immediately spotted a container of Firewhiskey and two glasses grouped together on a tray. They were sitting there as though Harry was expecting to entertain someone. Ron's eyes narrowed as he imagined the type of floozy he might bring here.  
  
A dark-haired beauty probably. Someone with full lips, thick hair, a tiny waist, brilliant, speaks five languages…  
  
The Firewhiskey burned as he took a swig straight from the container. He fought the urge to cough and let the tears roll down his face unheeded, needing to believe they were a reaction to the strong alcohol. Sniffing and wiping his face, he poured a generous amount into one of the glasses and carried it into the living area, resisting the urge to bring the whole bottle.  
  
Why can't things stay the same? Why do people have to insist on change, on "confronting the issue"? He was unashamedly simple. To live the normal dream of a wife and children, a good steady job, and a home. He would have been satisfied, or died trying.  
  
He almost wished Harry hadn't given in to the urge to visit and borrow…whatever he had been there to borrow…  
  
***  
  
Ron dashed to the door at the sudden knock and jerked it open without bothering to see who it was. When he saw his best friend, a tidal wave of relief flowed through him.   
  
"Harry!" He grabbed his hand and shook hard, jerking him into a hug, ignoring Harry's grunt of surprise. "Hi! Come in!"  
  
When he pulled away, Harry looked understandably shocked at the enthusiastic reception. Ron gave him a wide-eyed look and jerked his head toward the kitchen, muttering, "Again."  
  
Harry nodded in understanding and thinned his lips. Ron took hold of his arm and dragged him into the flat.   
  
"Would you like a drink?"  
  
"Actually, I just came by to see if you two had any extra--"  
  
"Now, now Harry, come on, mate. I haven't seen you in ages."  
  
"You just saw me two--"  
  
"Come and have a drink. What would you like? How about Firewhiskey?"  
  
He kept up the steady stream of babbling conversation, studiously ignoring Harry's amusement. He poured two glasses of Firewhiskey and urged Harry to the sofa.   
  
"So how are you, what are you up to?"  
  
"Hello, Harry."   
  
"Hermione, hello," Harry got up and started toward her, seeming to change his mind at the last instant, possibly because she was shooting daggers with her eyes and gripping her wand. He stood there, wobbling back and forth slightly in a muted imitation of that old house elf, Dobby. "Er, are you two about to have dinner? I didn't mean to interrupt; I should probably get going." He started to inch toward the door.   
  
"No!" Ron blurted. They both turned to stare at him, Hermione in silent fury, Harry in confused dread. "I mean, no, you're not interrupting. You should join us. Right, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione smiled tightly. "Of course. You're always welcome here, Harry."  
  
"I don't know if--"  
  
"Aw, come on, Harry. We haven't had dinner in ages." Ron sent him a pleading look, not caring if Hermione saw.  
  
"Alright. Would you like some help with dinner?"  
  
"How about some take away?" he asked Harry.  
  
"That would be fine," Hermione snapped pointedly.  
  
"Maybe you should change first, mate." Harry gestured to his filthy Ministry uniform.  
  
"Right. One minute."  
  
Ron slipped into the bedroom, knowing he was in for it. Sure enough, Hermione stormed in behind him, slamming the door.  
  
"Using Harry to avoid the situation is not going to help."  
  
"Quiet," Ron whispered, panicking. "He'll hear you. I'd rather the whole world didn't know you think I'm a terrible lover."  
  
"I never said--"  
  
"Shhh!"  
  
Hermione took a deep breath through clenched teeth and quieted her voice. "I never said you were a terrible lover. It's just that you're never interested. And when I try something, you're usually--well, you lose interest." She looked embarrassed and hurt, but it was nothing compared to the discomfort twisting his gut. "I don't think I'm unattractive. There's a man at work--"  
  
"Oh really? Well, maybe you should go to this man at work. Maybe he'll be able to satisfy you the way I can't." He turned away irritably and started shedding his work robes, grasping ugly flannel trousers and an old holey Canons sweatshirt he knew she hated.  
  
His jerked the shirt over his head and felt like a heel when he was greeted with a shiny-eyed stare. Lifting her chin, she took a shaky breath through her nose.  
  
"My satisfaction isn't the problem now, is it?" She started to leave and he grabbed her arm.  
  
"What do you want from me, Hermione? What do you expect?"  
  
"I want to feel attractive. I know you're not-not impotent." He winced, but she plowed on. "You can be insatiable. That night we went dancing with Harry and Ginny? You couldn't keep your hands off me. Or when Harry and Ginny broke up. After you stayed up all night with him, and I with her we--we made love the whole next day."  
  
He remembered.  
  
"You were like a wild animal. You couldn't get enough. Then nothing. For two months, it's been nothing. Why?"  
  
Ron sighed deeply and dropped to the bed, shoulders drooped. "I don't know why, ok? I don't understand any better than you."  
  
"What do you suggest we do?" she asked.   
  
"I don't know!" He jumped back up and started to pace.  
  
She raised her chin and shifted her gaze to the ceiling, blinking rapidly.   
  
"I'm sorry. I don't know. Maybe, maybe if we mix things up a bit. You know, try new things..."  
  
"So you're bored, then."  
  
"No! Just listen for a minute. I don't know that there is an answer. I just mean that maybe a change of pace will help."  
  
He was desperately trying to justify the problem they'd been having, he'd been having, and he could tell she desperately wanted to believe him, to accept the possibility as fact.  
  
She nodded slowly, brow furrowed. "What sort of new things?"  
  
"I don't know. Going new places, maybe, being around…more people."  
  
Hermione's face took on a contemplative expression. "Other people. Do you mean bringing other people in? Like a threesome?"  
  
Ron struggled to hide the shiver of excitement rippling through him and turned away.  
  
"Yes, well, do you think we should go that far?" He glanced at her and looked away again, unnerved by her penetrating stare. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pulling his trousers away from his body in an attempt to hide his sudden erection. "I mean, if you want to we could try it."  
  
"I've always been curious about that."  
  
He stared at her incredulously. She was actually considering it?   
  
"I don't know how I feel about another woman," she continued. "Do you want to do this with another woman?"  
  
Ron couldn't prevent his nose wrinkle. He tried, he really did. She always watched every movement, every facial tic to figure out what he was thinking.   
  
"No? I thought that was every man's fantasy."  
  
"I didn't say no," he snapped defensively.  
  
"You didn't need to _say_ anything."  
  
He shuffled his feet. "Maybe we should just--"  
  
"Actually, I'd rather like to try--well, if we do it--you know--another man." He felt her eyes on him, and he struggled to hide another shiver of excitement, busying himself with putting away his robes.  
  
"I don't know. I mean, that would be strange, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Is that what you want?"  
  
"I don't know, Hermione!" he ground out through clenched teeth, startled when she flinched. Why wasn't she arguing back with him like earlier? God, women are confusing. "I'm sorry. Again. I don't know. Maybe we could try. Just to see what it's like? If that's what you want."  
  
They stood in silence for awhile, staring at each other.  
  
She bit her lip and looked away. "Harry's here."  
  
"I know; let's talk about this later, I'm starving."  
  
"No, I mean…Harry's here. We could ask him--you know..."  
  
His throat tightened painfully. "Should we risk that?"  
  
"If we make it clear that he can say no, don't pressure him. Why don't you ask him while you're out getting dinner." She nodded decisively. "Yes, bring it up casually and see how he reacts."  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. "How do you bring something like that up casually, Hermione? 'Oh, Harry, mine and Hermione's sex life is nonexistent and we were thinking you might want to join us to get things going again.' Would that do?"  
  
"Whatever it takes, Ron."  
  
He looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you want it to be Harry so badly?"  
  
She avoided his gaze. "I think it would be the best. We both trust him, he's unattached, and...well...it couldn't really be anyone else."  
  
Ron blew out a breath. "If I get an opportunity, I'll try and bring it up."  
  
She nodded and led him out into the living area where Harry was bent over petting Crookshanks.  
  
"Ron, are you alright?" she whispered.  
  
"I'm fine, why?"  
  
"You made a funny sound."  
  
"No, I didn't."  
  
"Ron, yes you did."  
  
"Well, I didn't hear anything. It must have been you."  
  
"Ron! I did not--"  
  
"You ready?" Harry interrupted. While they had been whispering furiously he had donned his cloak and was standing by the door.  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm ready. We'll be back in a little bit."  
  
"Alright." She held up her face for a kiss and after a moment's hesitation, he bussed her cheek.  
  
Her expression was closed when he pulled back, and he tried to smile at her. She smiled back, if a bit sadly.  
  
"Be safe."  
  
"We will. Let's get going, mate."  
  
They left, slamming the door behind them.  
  
"Do you want to Apparate from here or--"  
  
"Let's walk. It'll just take five minutes."  
  
Harry shrugged a shoulder and started down the stairs.  
  
They chatted about inconsequential things for a while, Quidditch scores, the new version of the Firebolt that was coming out (accelerates from zero to 150 in less than eight seconds), rumours of Death Eater sightings, quickly skimming over Harry's job, and moving on to a subject Ron had been dreading.  
  
"How's Ginny?" Harry asked suddenly. Ron stumbled and Harry reached out to steady him. "You all right there, mate?"  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just clumsy, I guess." They walked in silence while Ron tried to think of what to say that wouldn't upset his friend.  
  
"So, Ginny. How is she?"  
  
"She's ok."  
  
"I heard she was seeing Oliver Wood."  
  
Ron glanced at him quickly. "Yeah."  
  
"Is she happy?"  
  
"I guess." He watched Harry's face closely.  
  
Harry grinned at him. "I'm ok with it, Ron."  
  
"Are you? Are you seeing someone then?"  
  
"Not right now."  
  
"No available--or not so available--women throwing themselves at you? Come on, you've got to have some great tales to share, Mr. Saviour of the Wizarding World."  
  
Harry burst out laughing. "Not as such."  
  
"So no one, then, eh?"  
  
"Well, it's only been a couple of months, Ron. I'm not ready to jump into just any relationship."  
  
Ron knew this was the perfect opportunity and gathered every scrap of courage he could. Maybe he would say yes. "Harry--"  
  
Harry cocked his head to the side. "What?"  
  
"What would you--what do you think--how would you like--"  
  
Ron blew out a breath in frustration. Harry was staring at him with a half-smile, like he knew what was coming. Ha. If he did, he'd probably run for the hills. Then not only would Hermione's problem not be dealt with, he'd lose his best friend. He wouldn't see him at all. He didn't think he could handle that.   
  
"What is it, Ron? Spit it out."  
  
"How about…how about here? I haven't tried this place, have you? It looks good. Let's go in. Come on."  
  
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and adopted a disgruntled expression. What was his problem? He must be thinking about Ginny, Ron thought miserably, no matter what he claimed. He hated it that his best friend was still pining for his sister. He couldn't seem to get anything right tonight. Ron scrubbed his hands over his face and grabbed a menu.   
  
***  
  
Dinner had been painfully silent. Hermione had greeted him with a lifted brow and a question in her eyes. He tilted his head, looked away, and shrugged, trying to ignore the heat rushing to his ears. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, too, looking defeated.  
  
He put his free arm around her as he passed, whispering, "If it's that important, we'll find someone. Don't worry, ok? Whatever it takes."  
  
"Right. Whatever it takes."  
  
***  
  
They had gone to bed immediately after Harry left, curling into their usual positions of facing away from each other. He hugged his pillow and tried again to scrape up enough courage to ask his best friend an important question. He rolled toward her and opened his mouth to ask, but of course it came out wrong.  
  
"We should get married."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No, I'm not kidding. We've been together long enough. I love you, you love me. We could be happy."  
  
"Ron. No. You know better. You shouldn't just settle because it's easy."  
  
"You think this is easy?"  
  
"It's easier than going for what you really want."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
He rolled away from her, fist tightening on his pillow, staring blindly at the wall. The room was silent for a few moments, then she cuddled up to his back with her arms around his waist.  
  
"You're just comfortable, Ron."  
  
He jerked away and rolled back to face her. "What's wrong with comfortable, huh? Why is there such a big fuss over perfection? I don't need perfection. What we have is good enough for me, even if some things aren't as great as they…could be."  
  
She flopped on her back and bit her quivering lip. "I've been letting it go, too. It's not all your fault." She shifted again, this time pressing her face to his chest. "Things haven't been right for a while, but I hadn't been able to pinpoint why until now. Or maybe I just didn't want to. But I finally have to."  
  
He hesitated. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"You have to stop this," she insisted. "This denial. I know it's hard--"  
  
"You don't know! You don't know what you're talking about." He fought with the sheets that had tangled around his legs from all the flopping back and forth they were doing, but she clung to him.  
  
"Yes I do. Don't push it down anymore. It's ok. It's ok to be who you are. I still love you. Not the way we should love each other if we were going to get married, or if we were going to continue this relationship. You could never love me the way you--"  
  
"Stop."  
  
"You know it's true," she whispered. She was holding him so tight. It should have felt sexual. It should have aroused him to have her breasts pressing against his chest, his groin aligned with her abdomen.   
  
He ran his hand from her knee to her thigh, then cupped her bottom.  
  
"Don't."  
  
He rolled over so he was on top of her and started to kiss her neck.  
  
"Ron, please don't."  
  
He pressed kisses to her shoulders and started peppering her face with salty kisses, quickly realizing the moisture was from their mingled tears. He heard a harsh sob rip through the air, vaguely associating the sound with the sudden ache in his throat and chest as he buried his face in her hair. Hermione stroked his hair, trying and failing to hide her own sounds of pain through her whispered words of support and promises to help.  
  
***  
  
He tossed back the Firewhiskey in one gulp, and resumed his contemplative stare into the fire, ignoring the warmth that burned his skin. It was fitting, as his insides were on fire with a combination of alcohol, guilt, and dread.  
  
A noise from outside the door had him tensing to readiness. The muttered spell that followed allowed him to relax again, enough to scoot back from the hearth and lie on his back, this time to concentrate on the bumps and swirls of the ceiling in an attempt to empty his mind. The door slammed with such a snap that he stirred enough to glance in Harry's direction.   
  
He slammed his bag down on the counter and huffed. "Why do they even bother telling me the rules if they're going to change them at the last second...must think it's funny to trick the new recruit..hi, Ron."  
  
This brought him around. "You don't look surprised to see me, Harry."  
  
"I'm not. Hermione sent me an owl." He continued with the removal of his cloak and grinned at Ron's expression. "She figured you would end up here. You always do when she kicks you out."  
  
"She didn't just kick me out." Harry froze in the act of removing his boots.  
  
"What do you mean?'  
  
Ron struggled to a sitting position, slightly concerned when the world gave a noticeable shift on its axis. 'We broke up. It's over. She decided comfortable isn't good enough."  
  
Harry nodded slowly and continued with the act of removing his boots, taking his time with his socks, stretching and flexing his toes.  
  
"Are you alright?'  
  
'Am I alright?" Ron laughed weakly. Was he alright? He didn't know. What should he say to his best friend? He could never get the courage to say what needed to be said. 'I would be better if you'd have a drink with me."  
  
***  
  
His sides ached from laughter. Why had he been worried? Nothing had changed. Not like it could have changed since Harry didn't know anything was amiss other than the fact that his two best friends had broken it off.  
  
"Should we have another drink?" he asked, squinting at Harry's vague outline in the semi-darkness.  
  
"I believe we've both had quite enough. In fact, I think it's time for a sober up potion; unless you want to spend the morning with your head in the toilet, that is."  
  
Ron raised his glass. "Fill 'er up, mate."  
  
Laughing, Harry took the glass into the kitchen, returning with a new one and a bottle of pre-made Snapping SoberUP. They both took the recommended dose and settled back.  
  
There was a comfortable silence as they waited for the effects to take. Ron lay in front of the fireplace again, hands locked behind his head and Harry's head pillowed on his thigh.  
  
"So I heard you." Harry's voice broke through.  
  
Ron stirred from his peaceful contemplation of the flames. "You heard? You heard what?"   
  
"You and Hermione talking last night."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Silence. Ron stared determinedly at the ceiling.  
  
"So maybe I shouldn't have come here."  
  
Harry shifted his head on Ron's thigh but didn't say anything.  
  
"I should go." He started to struggle to his feet.  
  
"No!" Harry pushed him back down. "No. This is exactly where you should be, Ron."  
  
He lay back again, suddenly hyperaware of his body in relation to Harry's. Harry had half risen to push him back down and now had a hand propped on the floor between his legs, drumming his fingers against the carpet as he stared off into space, appearing to be deep in thought.  
  
"What exactly did you hear?" Ron asked finally.  
  
"Enough."  
  
Ron pushed himself up so he was leaning back on his hands. "What is enough?"  
  
"I heard from 'Well, maybe you should go to this man at work.' to 'it couldn't really be anyone else'."  
  
"Ah, well then. You had your ear pressed to the door? And you took notes?"  
  
Harry's gaze flicked away. "I was trying to figure out what happened, thought maybe I could help."  
  
"Oh, yes, that is what we needed, after all. The Boy Who Lived And Saved the World to save us." Ron couldn't prevent the sarcasm.  
  
"Well apparently that was what you wanted," Harry snapped back, eyes flashing.  
  
"It's what Hermione wanted." This time Ron looked away.  
  
"And you were arguing pretty hard, eh? I heard nothing but agreement. You must have been communicating in some other language. I'd say Neanderthal, but Hermione wouldn't understand that one. Or maybe she would have to. How else could she have lasted this long?"  
  
Ron jerked his leg back so that he swept Harry's supporting hand aside, hesitating only a moment as Harry crashed down, hitting his elbow with a loud crack. He jumped up and stormed from the room, had his hand on the doorknob when he realized Harry hadn't followed him. He grunted and pulled the door open.  
  
"So where are you going?" Harry called.  
  
"I don't know. Home."  
  
"With Hermione?" He walked into the small entryway and leaned his shoulder against the wall, eyebrows raised.  
  
Ron scowled. "To the Burrow."  
  
"Appropriate."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Harry gave a nonchalant shrug. "Nothing. The name is appropriate is all."  
  
"Just spit it out, Harry," Ron snapped.  
  
"You're hiding. Burrowing into your little hole of denial. Can't bring yourself to admit who and what you really are." Harry's smug tone made Ron's jaw clench.  
  
"Oh really? And what's that, Harry? What am I really?"   
  
Harry stared at him and shook his head, exaggerated innocence on his face. "Fine. Pretend nothing's changed. That's the way you want it, that's the way it'll be."  
  
"No, you want to say something. Just say it. Stop dancing around."  
  
"You're one to talk! Why won't you say it?" Harry's laugh was humourless.  
  
Ron shook his head with a jerk and made a gesture with his hand for Harry to speak.  
  
"You're a poof."  
  
Harry stared at him in defiance as he felt at least a hundred waves of emotions: shock, embarrassment, anger, fear, forced humour, ultimately falling back on the old standby of denial expressed through anger by curling his hand into a fist and smashing it into Harry's nose.  
  
"You fucking fuckwit, you broke by bloody dose!"  
  
Ron tried to tamp down remorse and turned back toward the door, ready to leave Harry there clutching his face with blood dripping down the front of his shirt. A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Hermione whispered, _"Leave now and you'll never resolve this."_  
  
He cradled his aching fist and rapped his forehead against the door. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Lot of good tat does be right dow. You're sorry. You broke by bloody dose, you git."  
  
He turned and winced at Harry's accusing face. "I can fix it."  
  
"Doe! Dot you."  
  
"_Braci Nose Immendo_."  
  
"Very fuddy." Harry reached for his wand and aimed it at his nose.  
  
"You're going to ruin your face."  
  
Harry snorted. "Owwwwwww."  
  
"Not a good idea, Harry."  
  
"Fide. Do it ted."  
  
"Ted?"  
  
Harry glared.   
  
Ron dug for his wand as he cleared his throat. "Ok, don't move."  
  
Harry's streaming eyes crossed and fixed on the wand tip an inch from his nose. "Are you sure you doe what you're doig?"  
  
"Just hold still." Ron swished and flicked and muttered, "_Osreparare_."  
  
Harry tentatively touched his nose as Ron watched closely. "It feels better."  
  
"Does it still hurt?" Ron reached for Harry's chin and turned his face to the side, stooping a bit to examine the new bump on his nose. "Damn, sorry about that. It didn't heal back perfectly." He ran his finger over it. "Maybe we could take you to St. Mungo's. They have those new mediwizards that specialize in…appearance...."  
  
He finally felt Harry's gaze on him and realised his position. He should move his hand. He should move it now before he did something stupid. He shouldn't move it from Harry's nose to his cheek. He shouldn't use his grip on Harry's chin to turn his face up and toward him. He shouldn't admire the deep green eyes, or notice the gold flecks he had never had the courage to look close enough to see.  
  
"I'm sorry I hit you." He winced at the shakiness in his voice.  
  
"It's alright, Ron." Harry's breath puffed over his face, minty from the SoberUP. He just had to move forward five centimetres or so. And down two. Harry's eyes were wide, and his lips were curving. Ron felt his own turn up slightly and leaned forward a bit more, hesitating, then touching his to the corner of Harry's mouth. His eyes drifted shut as he slid his mouth over until their lips meshed, breathing out a few demons, shrugging off a few bricks.  
  
A sound bubbled up from Harry's chest. Ron pulled back and opened his eyes. Pleasure rushed through him upon observing Harry's upturned face, eyes closed, lips still pursed. Those fascinating eyes fluttered open, glazed with some unfathomable emotion.  
  
Hands slid up his chest, gripped his shoulders and pulled him close again, their lips melding and parting, tentative tongues touching. Ron wasn't quite sure where to put his own hands and clenched them repeatedly into fists, relaxing, squeezing, relaxing, squeezing. His stomach quivered as they continued to explore each other, the new sensations rocketing through his head, his groin, his heart.   
  
Harry twisted his mouth away and lowered his head, pressing his temple against Ron's cheek. His short bursts of breath were warm and moist on Ron's neck, and he whispered, "Wow."  
  
Ron didn't really know what to say or do. He wanted to pull Harry's face back to his and learn more; he wanted to put his hands on Harry and feel Harry's hands on him. But it was too soon. Too fast. His quivering stomach started to rebel, and he pulled away.  
  
"I think I'm gonna be sick."  
  
He ran straight to the bathroom and draped himself over the toilet, heaving desperately. A low keening whine escaped as the sickness continued to roil in his belly; he finally expelled a vicious stream of thick yellow bile just as he felt a hand on his back. He spit several times and leaned his forehead on his arm against the tank while Harry flushed away the sickness.  
  
"Are you alright, Ron?" Harry asked quietly.  
  
"I'm ok." He wiped his mouth and stood shakily, gratefully leaning into the arm Harry wrapped around his waist. "I'm not sure that SoberUP agreed with me."  
  
"Right."  
  
Ron turned to stare at him. "This isn't about you; I just, I don't know. I'm nervous." When Harry wrinkled his nose, he grinned a little and covered his mouth. "And I'm breathing vomit breath on you. Sorry."  
  
Wordlessly, Harry loaded a toothbrush with some paste and handed it to him, serious eyes watching as he scrubbed at his teeth and tongue. "It'sh really no' abou' you." He spit and wiped his mouth on the proffered towel. "This isn't the sort of thing a bloke can adjust to in a few hours."  
  
"I know."  
  
There was a pause. "Though you seem to be adjusting to it pretty well."  
  
Harry smiled a little. "I've had two months to adjust."  
  
Two months. "That's why you and Ginny...that's why you two broke it off." Ron shook his head. "I never knew. I never even thought about your being this way. I mean, I've tried not to think about it, but I've wanted this...." Ron trailed off as he was hit with the truth.  
  
You've wanted this, what? Since when?" Harry prompted.  
  
"I'm not sure. I think…I think since always." He sat heavily on the toilet and stared at his feet.  
  
Harry knelt in front of him, brushed a lock of Ron's hair from his face, and peered into his eyes. "You're exhausted."  
  
"I am tired. Maybe I should go."  
  
"Don't be an arse, you're staying here." Harry pushed off from Ron's knees and stood.  
  
Ron hesitated. "I'm, er, not sure I'm ready for that."  
  
"For what?" Harry rolled his eyes. "You can sleep on the sofa, you git."  
  
"Oh." Ron smiled sheepishly and allowed Harry to pull him to his feet, trailing after him as he summoned blankets and a pillow. He smiled a little as Harry fussed over the bedding, enjoying the pleasurable flutters in his chest when Harry pushed him down and tucked the blankets around him.   
  
"Ron." Harry's voice broke.   
  
He pushed himself up on an elbow and took hold of Harry's hand. "What is it?"  
  
"I'm glad. I'm glad you're here."  
  
Ron reached up to cup Harry's face, startled to feel moisture. His chest tightened painfully.   
  
"C'mere." He tugged on Harry's hand, pulling him into an embrace, heart pounding as Harry's arms slid around him, fisting in his shirt. Harry mumbled something against his chest. "What did you say?"  
  
He was silent for so long Ron was sure he wasn't going to answer. Harry moved against the hand stroking his hair and clasped it to his face. "I said…since always for me, too."  
  
Tears pooled and fell as Ron leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to Harry's mouth. "Alright, then." He sniffed and untucked the blanket. "Let's get some sleep."  
  
Without hesitation, his best friend stretched out beside him, head soon nestled in the crook of Ron's arm, unruly hair tickling Ron's chin. As Harry's breathing deepened and evened out, Ron floated in an exhausted, dream-like state.  
  
Maybe this wasn't "normal". Maybe they wouldn't be accepted, and maybe he'd be a disappointment to his family. Maybe it was time to stop living for everyone else and do what made him happy. For once that didn't scare him.   
  
For once, he was content.

***

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